NFL Superstar: Choose Your Own Adventure

Kareem McKenzie's recent arrest showcases just how tough it is to be an NFL player. You think you could do better? Choose your path as an NFL Superstar!

You awake from your slumber, and fix yourself a delicious calorie packed breakfast and wash it down with a high-yield protein powder and yogurt smoothie. After flipping through your daily subscription to the Wall Street Journal, you commence your daily routine.

First, a stop at the stadium to work out and meet up with the guys. Your body is a temple, and a chiseled physique will keep the endorsement dollars rolling in.

The time roles by, and the day becomes the night. You've worked hard all day, and now its time for play. Your agent encourages you being in the public eye, as it increases your income flow. You're portfolio is underperforming, so you figure “why not?”.

Makes sense, anything could happen. You get to the club, and its one hell of a time. A few fans ask for autographs, and while you're pissed that people don't respect your space—it's all good. You remember what your agent said about being socialable and buy them a drink—cha ching—that's the sound of money in your bank as you've just become the face of the franchise.

Its understandable, everyone needs to relax. On your way to the club, you're obeying all of the street signals and lights. There's no way in hell you're going to get busted with pot, you've got too much to lose. You see the familiar shine of red and white lights reflecting off your rear view mirror.

You're now a true NFL superstar. You buy a round for the house! You're one charitable son of a bitch. Roger Goodell would be proud to see you giving back to the community like this. You and your buddies are supporting the local economy by drinking champagne off strippers asses.

You're a smart man who believes that the economy is based on the trickle-up effect rather than the trickle-down effect. Some of your buddies call you a socialist, but you're the one with the college degree.

It's three AM and only good things can happen now:

Congratulations, you just spit in a womans face. Good Job, Larry Johnson

You head home only to hear your back door slamming shut. Your live-in girlfriend comes scampering out to the hallway wearing only towel. You politely ask her what is going on, but she stumbles to find an answer.

The situation escalates, and you're filled with anger. You pull out your 9mm and direct it towards the forehead of that cheating hoe. Unfortunately she calls the police, and you're arrested.

Motley Crue's GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS come on and those strip club honeys start dancing and shaking their asses Aphrodite's styles, all up in your face. What a wonderful way to relax: a cold beer, some fine ass honeys, and all of your friends.

Time flies by and its time to peace, but the testosterone has taken hold of you. You're a beast! You're 300lbs of Man! You see one of the strippers outside and proposition her, but she refuses. She must not know how famous you are, so you let your gun do the talking.

The Police officer steps up to your car and sees the marijuana just sitting there. Why didn't you at least put it in the glove compartment? How did you forget to hide this shit? Did you really think the officer would think that they were just Cigars? You give the officer due respect, get off with just a warning.

You hastily spark up your stash. Breathe in, Breathe out. You're a 300lb man, you can smoke this stuff before the Po-Po gets to your door. One more toke, you're almost there. You're stoned as all hell but the stash is gone. Unfortunately the officer has two functioning nostrils, and our out of luck.